The Motorway- or Why didn't She Ask to Stop? Part 3

The Motorway– or Why didn’t She Ask to Stop? Part 3
“Waiting, but for how long?”
At last the coach was stopping– pulling up at the side of the road, not a proper coach stop, but just a bit of pavement near Oxford Street. Frantic, not able to think of anything except finding a loo, Joan looked desperately around for the sign she so wanted to see: “Ladies,” or “Public Lavatories.”
Nothing! Nowhere was there the slightest sign of a public loo, the loos she had been praying to get to for the last hour and which had become the centre of her existence for the last fifteen minutes.
The awful reality of the situation suddenly struck Joan; she was going to have to stand up and walk off the coach, then walk along the pavement trying to find the loos. Everyone would be able to see her; there was absolutely no way she could hold herself any longer. She would have to survive without her fingers pressing so hard between her legs, holding back her pee?
Could she?
Well, there really wasn’t any choice; she had to. She Had to hold in her pee when she stood up and walked off the coach, trying to behave like all the other women on the coach, excited at the thought of a full day’s shopping in London, (excited at the thought of a pee at long last?) to walk and stand normally, not show that she was on the brink of wetting her knickers, her bladder bursting, so full that she could hardly contain her pee. She must not let anyone see that she was actually so desperate that she needed to press with all her strength between her legs to control herself. As the other passengers surged down the coach past Joan, she prepared herself for one great effort, to somehow hold in her pee once she uncrossed her legs and had to walk. Amy, next to her was standing up, (maybe she did not want to pee so badly after all?) and Joan knew that she could not put this off any longer. Gritting her teeth, pressing her thighs together, making one terrific effort and clenching her bursting bladder shut with all her strength, she was somehow holding in the torrent of pee that was trying to force itself out. Doing all of this, Joan could hardly walk, but standing was making her need to pee so much more urgent that she had no option but to ‘walk,’ shuffle, or hobble, partly sideways down the coach, trying to keep her legs crossed because if she did not she was going to lose control and wet herself.
“I must hang on, I must hang on, I must hold it back, I must, and I must wait.” Was all Joan could think as he shuffled sideways down the coach, the only way she could move while keeping her legs crossed and hold back her pee now she did not have a hand pressing between her legs.
Somehow Joan was not holding herself as she hobbled out of the coach, but there was still no mistaking that she was lady in desperate need of a pee: Not only was she walking, or rather shuffling, sideways so that she could keep her legs crossed, she was also walking with her legs stiff and tensed, and almost on tip–toe, as she was fighting with all her strength to hold back her pee. Her whole body was tensed with the effort it was taking to control her bursting bladder; her fists were clenched and she was gripping her skirt so tightly her knuckles were white, she was clenching her teeth and biting her lower lip, thought why this helped her wait she did not know, but in her state she was willing to do anything that might help her wait.
As she stepped out onto the pavement, nearly falling over as she had to twist her legs tightly together as a sudden, very urgent need to pee hit her, her only thought was “Loos! Loos! Where’s the Loo! Quick, I must find one, I want to pee, I can’t wait much longer.” She leaned against the side of the coach to keep her balance and turning to Amy, gasped, “Do you know where the Loos are? Quick, please, it’s urgent!”
Amy was looking round, trying to get her bearings; she had been on a similar shopping trip the year before and like today, she had been dying for a pee when she arrived. It had not been easy to find a loo, but she had eventually, and now she was trying to remember where it was. She had been watching Joan’s desperate struggles on the coach and she guessed how badly she must want to pee. Amy wanted to pee, but nothing like as badly as it seemed Joan did.
“Loos! Where’s the loo?” Joan was pleading with Amy, or anyone else, to show her the way to the loo she so desperately needed. Now she was standing up she wanted to pee so desperately urgently she could hardly wait, even twisting her legs so tightly and making a great exhibition of herself. She didn’t care. She was on the brink of wetting herself and she had to do anything she could do to hold in her pee. Even with her legs virtually tied in a knot and clenching her bladder shut with all her strength, she could hardly hold back the terrible bursting pressure in her bladder. Desperate wasn’t the word for her condition, more like frantic; she had been waiting so long that she could not bear it much longer, nor could she hold her pee much longer, the pressure in her bladder was too much for any human to contain. If only her skirt had not been so tight– she would have been holding herself with both hands.
“Please Amy, let’s get to the loo quickly, it’s an emergency. I can’t wait much longer!” Joan admitted to Amy, incapable of anything except fighting to control what had become a frantic, urgent, almost uncontrollable, need to pee. She was pressing her hands against the front of her skirt in a vain attempt to hold herself; she was on the brink of losing control and wetting herself, and beyond caring if anyone saw that she was holding between her legs, or at least trying to. Her skirt, which she had thought so smart and so fashionable, was becoming an instrument of torture, preventing her pressing between her legs, and holding back the flood of pee that was about to burst out of her. Frantic to prevent the nightmare of wetting herself in public, right there on the pavement, Joan had twisted her legs tightly together and was almost kneeling on the pavement, in a last frantic attempt to hold back her pee. If only she could get her hands pressing between her legs, she might be able to hold back her pee! If only she could see where the loo was, she might, just, be able to hold on long enough to get there before she lost control and wet herself. No! that was absolutely unthinkable; adult women of her age did not wet themselves, she had to hold back her pee. Somehow, anyhow, she had to force herself to wait. Even the slightest leak of pee was unthinkable. It did not happen, she had never wet herself, and she wasn’t going to do so today.
If Joan had been capable of taking notice of her surroundings, she would have realised that she was not the only one wanting to pee. Her friend Amy was standing with her legs crossed, biting her lower lip and looking very tense and worried, while Val and her boy–friend were standing facing away from the crowd, trying, without success, to hide how badly they wanted to pee. Val was standing close to a shop window, hoping that nobody would see that she had one hand pressing between her legs, while her boy–friend had both hands in his jeans pockets, his legs crossed, and was hopping from foot to foot. Amy, who had iron bladder control, badly wanted to pee, but was concerned only with easing the pain from her over filled bladder, and helping her friend Joan who was obviously in distress and in great need of a pee.
Amy was not sure of the way to the public loos. Two years ago, on her first and only shopping trip, she had been in the same situation, getting off the coach with an agonisingly full bladder, and could only remember the misery of walking for what had seemed like miles along underground passages, looking for the Ladies. Now she had to find the place again, and not only for her own comfort, but for Joan, who appeared to be desperate; Amy had never seen a grown woman so desperate.
“Down the subway” she said, pointing to the entrance further along the pavement. Amy thought that she ought to lead the way, but walking was difficult with her bladder so painfully full, and in any case Val and Ron, her boyfriend, were already ahead of her and pulling away. She had not realised that they wanted a loo, but from the speed they were walking, and Val with one hand pressed between her legs, they had to be desperate. Poor Joan was trying to keep up, but she must have been on the point of bursting, as she could hardly walk. The best she could manage was shuffling partly sideways, both hands gripping her skirt, and her legs always crossed.
When she finally reached the stairs leading down to the subway, Joan had convinced herself that the ladies she needed so badly was close. If she could only get down the stairs she would find the entrance to the public loo she wanted more than she had ever wanted in her life before.
Walking down the stairs was almost beyond her ability, she could not keep her legs even partly crossed as she had been walking sideways along the pavement. After two steps she felt her control slipping away and she was going to pee, to wet herself! With a sob of “No! Oh No! I can’t wait,” she had to stop on the second step and twist her legs so tightly, literally kneeling on the step as she had to force herself to hold her pee. All her instinct, and training from a small girl had taught her that she must never, ever, wet herself. Convinced that the Ladies’ was only just down the stairs and along the passage–way, Joan made one last despairing attempt to hurry. Her need to pee was worse that she had ever thought possible and she wasn’t going to be able to hold it back much longer, but, if only she could hang on another second or two she would be in the loo and saved. By the bottom of the steps, Joan was right on the brink of letting a spurt of pee go into her knickers, but was thinking, ‘nearly there, only another few seconds and I can pee.’
Then the worst moment of the day, if not of her life: the Ladies’ was not there, only a long passage way leading to… The retreating figure of Amy, hurrying along, hands clenched at her sides as she struggled to control her own bursting bladder. She turned to see where Joan was, and then mouthed “Hurry up! It’s urgent! I want to go!”
As if it wasn’t urgent for Joan! She was desperate beyond anything she had ever known, clenching every muscle in her body trying to hold back her pee, and about to lose the battle. Joan gasped “No! No! I mustn’t!” and was almost in tears as she felt a spurt of pee escape, and the warm wetness spread between her legs. She was starting to wet herself! She had to stop, get herself under control and nothing else mattered. All she could think of was that she had to press between her legs, hold back the pee that was going to spurt out. Without thinking, and in a complete panic, she pulled up the front of her skirt, and jammed both hands between her legs, pressing, pressing with all her strength. Only one thing mattered to her at that moment: to stop herself peeing, wetting her knickers; cross her legs tightly, bend over, kneel down, do anything to press harder between her legs. Her skirt was up round her waist and anyone walking along the subway could see her knickers, and had to know that there was a woman frantic to pee and not being very successful in holding it back.
Press! Press! Press with all her strength! That was all that Joan could think. She was going frantic, in a panic because she was so close to the unthinkable happening; wetting herself in public. Somehow, she didn’t know or care how, she had to contain her pee until she reached a loo.
Author’s note: Since this story is taking place in England, it is written in UK English, and the term ‘Subway’ in the UK refers to an underground passage, usually to aid pedestrians to cross busy roads. In London, where the story is taking place, it is common for public toilets to be located in such passages; hence Joan’s misplaced optimism that she was close to the relief she so desperately needed.
The next installment will be the last and the conclusion of events. Joan, Amy, Val, and Ron are, as you know, all desperate for a pee and simply have to go very soon. The only question is: do they go in a public toilet, in their knickers, or in public?
Correspondence on this or other desperation fantasies welcome at Paul_Tester144@Yahoo.co.uk
By: Paul tester